The night air is heavy, thick with the scent of rain-soaked asphalt and the lingering buzz of streetlights overhead. Darkcreasa moves swiftly, her steps light but deliberate as she navigates the labyrinth of alleys leading toward her target.
She keeps replaying Shigaraki's words in her mind. "He's in the way. Fix it."
That's all the instruction she'd been given. No details, no plan. A test.
They don't trust her yet. She knows that much.
The League is fractured, wounds fresh in the wake of Twice's murder—a betrayal that cut deeper than just losing a member. Hawks had infiltrated them, pretended to be one of them, learned their secrets, and then—he struck.
She isn't delusional. She's the outsider. The new recruit stepping into a group that had already bled for one of their own. If she slips up, if she fails even slightly, they'll suspect her too.
Her grip tightens. She won't fail.
She spots the hero from the security footage rounding a street corner, oblivious to the predator stalking in the shadows. He walks with confidence, shoulders squared, unaware that his path is about to be altered.
Darkcreasa takes a breath and activates her quirk.
Her form shifts, molding and twisting until she's someone else—someone familiar.
Hawks.
The hero stops in his tracks the moment he sees her. Recognition. Suspicion. A flicker of wariness.
Darkcreasa smirks inwardly. She's got him exactly where she wants him.
"Heyyo! Long night, huh?" she says, perfectly mimicking Hawks' tone—cool, casual, unreadable.
The hero narrows his eyes but nods. "Yeah. Didn't think I'd run into you here."
Darkcreasa steps closer, letting the illusion settle. "Things are changing. Thought I'd clean up some loose ends."
The hero stiffens. There it is. The hesitation. The instinct that whispers something isn't right.
Before he can react, she moves.
Fast. Precise. Ruthless.
Her hand clamps onto his face, palm pressed against his forehead as she pushes herself inside his mind.
She skims through his memories—his training, his victories, his fears. And then she plants something new.
False doubt. False hesitation. A single thought woven carefully into his consciousness:
He never really trusted the heroes, did he?
Did they ever truly care about him, or was he just another pawn?
She lets the suggestion settle, deepening, twisting his own uncertainty against him.
The hero staggers backward, eyes blinking rapidly as his thoughts scramble.
She's done enough.
Without waiting for the aftermath, Darkcreasa shifts back to herself and vanishes into the shadows, heart hammering.
She doesn't need to look back.
Her mission is done.
Now, she just has to make sure the League believes in her.
Darkcreasa returns to the hideout, her pulse steady but her thoughts a storm beneath the surface. She steps inside, pushing past the lingering cold of the night as she makes her way back to the main room. Toga is the first to notice her, her golden eyes lighting up as she leans forward eagerly.
"You did it, right?" Her voice is bright, too excited, like this is some thrilling game.
Darkcreasa nods, keeping her expression neutral. "It's done."
Dabi watches her from his spot on the couch, his gaze sharp, unreadable. Shigaraki, leaning against the bar, barely reacts, but she knows he's watching her every move.
"Fast work," Dabi muses, stretching lazily. "Guess you're efficient, at least."
Shigaraki taps his fingers against the countertop, his expression unreadable. "Tell me exactly how it happened."
Darkcreasa keeps her breathing steady, describing it piece by piece—the transformation, the false memories, how she planted the doubt, how the hero staggered, uncertain of himself. She's careful, detailed, keeping her tone calm and confident.
The room is silent as she finishes.
Shigaraki finally nods, pushing off the bar. "Alright." His voice is measured, disinterested, but she catches something beneath it. A flicker of thought, something he doesn't say out loud.
She can feel it.
They don't believe her. Not entirely.
Toga grins, skipping over, looping her arm through Darkcreasa's. "You did great! This is going to be so fun!"
Dabi smirks, but there's something too casual about it. "Yeah. Fun."
Darkcreasa doesn't let her expression falter. She expected this. They'd been burned before. They wouldn't trust her so easily.
She would just have to prove herself again.
And again.
Until there was no doubt left.
Darkcreasa settled into the hideout, but the atmosphere remained thick with unspoken doubt. The League had accepted her in words, but not in truth. She could feel it lingering in their gazes—the quiet wariness, the way their conversations never fully included her. She was here, but she wasn't one of them yet.
They let her stay, let her eat with them, gave her assignments—but she was being watched. Every move. Every interaction. Even Toga, who had latched onto her with the excitement of a child finding a new toy, would sometimes pause in the middle of their conversations, her golden eyes flickering with something unreadable before her usual grin returned.
Dabi? He didn't hide it at all.
"You still breathing, newbie?" he'd tease, leaning against the bar whenever she walked in, his smirk lazy but sharp. "Shigaraki hasn't turned you to dust yet. Guess you're useful enough to keep around."
It wasn't exactly hostility, but it wasn't trust either.
And Shigaraki?
He was different.
While the others openly tested her—through words, through silence—Shigaraki simply observed. His red eyes followed her more often than she expected, lingering just long enough that she knew it wasn't coincidental. He never questioned her in front of the others, never voiced the doubt she could still feel weighing the room.
Yet… she had a strange feeling that, in some way, he believed her.
Or rather—he believed in her.
But he was good at hiding things.
He was good at keeping himself unreadable.
No one suspected a thing.
Days passed. Weeks.
Darkcreasa continued proving herself. Missions carried out, secrets gathered, tasks executed. She spoke when needed, kept herself sharp, never let hesitation seep into her movements.
She knew what they were doing. She had seen Twice's murder, the betrayal that had carved itself into them, the wound that had yet to heal. The way his absence still hung in the air. The League was like a wounded animal—dangerous, unpredictable, slow to trust.
And she was the outsider trying to walk among them.
One night, after returning from another mission, she stepped into the hideout and met Shigaraki's gaze.
He was sitting in the corner, quiet, detached—but watching.
She paused for a second, then walked past him, saying nothing.
But as she did, she felt it again.
The weight of his attention.
Carefully concealed, hidden beneath layers of distance and indifference.
No one knew. Not Dabi, not Toga, not any of them.
But he knew.
And so did she.
Even if she didn't understand why yet.
She was still earning her place.
Still proving herself.
But something told her—one day, she wouldn't have to anymore.
(Weeks later)
Darkcreasa never saw it coming.
The League had been laying low, taking jobs carefully, moving through the underground with precision. Missions executed flawlessly, their existence still lingering like an echo in hero society. But Hawks—he had always been too good. Too quick. Too careful.
They were set up.
The ambush came fast, precise, as if he had been waiting for the perfect moment to strike. She barely had time to react before red feathers tore through their hideout, knocking over tables, ripping through walls like razors. Voices shouted commands, the weight of heroes pressing in from all sides.
Shigaraki lunged first, attempting to dissolve the very ground beneath them, but Hawks was faster. A blast of wind, a sharp strike, and suddenly the League was cornered.
Dabi fought back, flames igniting in violent bursts, illuminating the chaos, but they were outnumbered. The sheer force of the hero raid overwhelmed them, bodies crashing, shouts mixing with smoke and rubble.
Darkcreasa shifted, trying to disappear into the form of an injured hero, but Hawks saw through her trick immediately. A sharp wing struck her across the ribs, knocking the air from her lungs.
Toga was the last to fall, a sharp cry escaping her lips before reinforced cuffs locked around her wrists.
And just like that—the League was taken.
Darkcreasa sat in the cold metal confines of a prison cell, her wrists still aching from the restraints they had forced onto her. The silence was suffocating. The League was disassembled, thrown into different cells across the facility, separated like caged animals.
Days passed in stillness, in interrogation, in endless questions she refused to answer.
And then—Aizawa entered.
His black hair was slightly disheveled, but his sharp gaze held something unreadable. He stood in front of her cell, arms crossed, expression blank.
"You all have a choice," he said simply.
Darkcreasa said nothing, but she listened.
"UA has been assigned custody over your rehabilitation." His voice was steady, firm. "Your crimes are heavy. Your history is unforgiving. But…" His gaze shifted ever so slightly. "You are still human."
She narrowed her eyes, skeptical.
Aizawa continued. "This isn't mercy. You will be monitored. You will be pushed. You will be tested on what kind of future you actually want." He exhaled slowly. "I'm not asking you to be heroes. I'm asking if you're capable of change."
Darkcreasa's chest tightened.
Her entire life, she had wanted something. A place. A family. A purpose.
But never before had she been asked if she wanted change.
She looked past Aizawa, through the dim light of the hallway, where other cells lined the walls. Shigaraki. Dabi. Toga. All of them now trapped by the very system they had fought against.
She clenched her fists.
This wasn't about survival anymore.
This was about redemption.
Or at least—finding out if it was even possible.
The League would be sent to UA.
And there, they would either rise—
Or completely fall apart.